


Dirty Little Secret

by marguerite_26



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Denial, First Time, M/M, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-06
Updated: 2012-03-06
Packaged: 2017-11-01 13:48:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marguerite_26/pseuds/marguerite_26
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron is clueless what Harry really wants for his birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Little Secret

**Author's Note:**

> Beta credit to the wonderful [](http://norton-gale.livejournal.com/profile)[**norton_gale**](http://norton-gale.livejournal.com/). 
> 
> Originally posted June 28, 2008

**Dirty Little Secret**

 

__

10:45pm  
The Leaky Cauldron, private room  
Password- cowboy

Two years of Auror training had taught Harry many things. One was _Constant Vigilance_ ; another was to be cautious of cryptic messages. But mainly it had taught him to be wary when Ron winked at him. Which he did each time he passed Harry's cubicle.

Oh, and that Ron had a cowboy thing.

Not a cowboy _thing_ , but a _cowboy_ thing. Er… whatever.

And thus, this particular cryptic message received on the morning of his twentieth birthday, engraved on a simple white card, inspired a special kind of dim foreboding.

He arrived suitably early and hid in a dark corner of the Leaky before he started drinking in anticipation of his ridiculously-themed birthday party.

The shimmering 10:42 from his _Tempus_ was just fading when the chair beside him pulled away from the table, scraping along the floor. An elegant hand grabbed Harry’s empty glass, filled it, and raised it in a toast. “To fucking cowboys.”

Harry cough-laughed into his hand. Even after months of sarcastic remarks whispered behind trainers' backs, Harry still found Malfoy’s wit unexpected. And as to whether the double-entendre was intentional, Harry buried his curiosity. Deep.

Malfoy poured himself another glass, lifted the bottle and stared at its empty state. “You're prepared for this debacle, I see.”

Harry shrugged. His indifference to parties was as well-known as Ron’s enthusiasm for them. “You got dragged into this, too?”

Malfoy cleared his throat and altered his perfect posture into a slouch identical to Ron’s. “Malfoy, you’ve been my training partner for 10 months,” he said in a perfect Ron imitation. “I’ve put up with some pretty ridiculous shit from you. You will come to Harry’s party. You will keep your nasty mouth shut and you will have a good time.”

Harry laughed despite himself. He imagined the hours Malfoy had spent practicing his act during the long days of stealth and stalking before Ron would finally cuff him in the back of the head. Their unlikely partnership hadn’t started so smoothly. Harry remembered insults and hurt feelings, black eyes and even one broken arm. And that was just the first week. But Kingsley wanted the healing to start in the Wizarding community and for the Ministry to set an example. So, among many other strange decisions, he paired a pardoned Death Eater with a war hero. There was no way out of it; everyone learned to cope. Even Harry, (who was denied his partner of choice) felt it was for the best, though not for the same reasons as Kingsley.

Malfoy interrupted his thoughts. “Let’s go then. Can’t have the guest of honour late for his own humiliation.”

Harry grumbled, but stood. And then stumbled.

After helping Harry over to the entrance to the private room, Malfoy rolled his eyes and whispered ‘cowboy’ to the door's portrait of a voluptuous bar wench. The wench gave Harry a wink and a “Yee-haw” before the door swung open.

The twang of country music and the chatter of crowd conversation assaulted the two as they walked into the room. For the thirty-ninth time that day, Harry cursed Ron’s name

After a quick survey of the room, he noted with relief that there were less than twenty attendees. All the Weasley brothers, several boys from work, Dean, Seamus, and Neville.

Ron stood in the middle of the group, his broad shoulders in a white Oxford shirt, his chest covered by a leather vest. He wore a cowboy hat, and tight jeans showed off his pert little…

_Fuck._

Harry turned away. It was always a bad idea to have too much to drink when he was around Ron.

He felt a sudden weight on his head. A quick look in the entranceway mirror confirmed that a Stetson hat in a rich tan shade now flattened his hair. Along with his well-past-five o’clock shadow, it gave him a rugged look.

Malfoy stepped up behind him, eyeing him through the mirror's reflection. He fiddled with his own black Stetson, tilting it low. The black suede made a striking contrast to his pale skin and eyes, and the little wisps of blond that snuck out around his ears. It was… well. Harry had obviously had too much to drink if he was thinking like that about Malfoy.

_Cowboy hats are not hot._

“Harry!” An arm clamped around his wrist and he was dragged further into the room. Clearly, Ron was pissed.

“Happy birthday, mate. I’ll get you a drink.“ Ron shoved Harry into a chair. “You have a seat.”

A drink appeared at Harry's elbow as Ron disappeared into the crowd. He was in the centre of the room now, and everyone crowded around him, standing in a circle.

Harry moved to get up.

“You just sit tight, birthday boy,” said a voice – George’s – behind him.

Harry's stomach turned to stone. He barely had time for a longing glance at the exit before he heard a wolf-whistle followed by several hoots and hollers.

The crowd separated, and made room for Ron and the flash of skin behind him.

Ron was wearing the most ludicrous smile Harry had ever seen. “Happy birthday, Harry." He turned to the witch who was attracting all the attention, shoving her to the forefront. “This is Crystal.”

The music in the room changed to some sort of an acoustic guitar with a porn cadence.

Harry looked around. Surely this wasn’t really happening. The woman was an abomination. Her hair and face looked plastic with all that hairspray and make-up (or their magical equivalent). Fairy-lights sparkled all over her body, each flashing at different times. He was sure it was some kind of spell to hypnotize customers into thinking she was attractive.

Her breasts were an Engorgement Charm gone wrong and stuffed into a tiny red leather bustier. She wore white leather chaps and - _oh God_ – nothing but a red leather thong beneath.

His face must have turned an impressive shade of horrified, because the laughter of the crowd grew tenfold and someone shouted “Don’t have a heart attack on us, Harry.”

A heart attack would be good. Great even. Anything to keep those grotesque breasts from…

Too late.

She scooped them up – one monstrosity in each hand (they were clearly held into that bra by a seriously wicked Sticking Charm) and she was shimmying toward him at an alarming speed.

Harry’s fingers itched to reach for his wand and hex her. No, hex Ron. No, just _Apparate_ straight out of there.

His eyes flickered to Ron, and immediately knew that he couldn’t. Ron’s silly grin and glazed eyes had changed from drunken to something heartbreaking. He actually looked proud that he’d accomplished this fabulous surprise for his best friend.

Harry wanted to die. There was no way he could escape, no excuse good enough to justify wiping that look off Ron’s face.

He glanced around the room, desperate not to look at the jiggling mountains heading his way. George was laughing so hard that Bill had to hold him up, Dean and Seamus were wide- eyed and drooling, and Neville was the colour of a tomato.

Then Harry’s eye caught a flash of black and blond. Malfoy, his hat still tilted low, leaned against the far wall, away from the crowd. His face was perfectly blank except for an annoyed look in his eyes.

That was all Harry had time to register before Crystal landed on his lap with a thud. His groan brought about a round of applause.

As expected, the breasts were propped immediately up to his chin. Crystal then took the liberty of pushing his head into them, burying his nose in the squishy crease. Harry struggled to breathe. Crystal mistook this as a cue and with a creak of leather, her legs wrapped around him and she began rocking.

 _Oh, my. God!_ Harry thought. She's trying to get off on me. Then his brain caught up with the situation and he realised he had it ass-backwards. Ron was paying her to do this.

To get _him_ off. Like this, in front of everyone.

A sticky, hot prickle of nausea began to play at the back of his neck as he made a move to stand. Crystal, observant as ever, moaned in delight and started whispering cowboy-themed dirty talk into his ear.

 _No. Just no._ This wasn’t happening.

One more thrust against his flaccid cock and Harry couldn’t take it anymore.

He jumped up, depositing Crystal on her nearly bare derriere and dashed to the loo, where he immediately threw up in the closest toilet. His head was still bent over the bowl when he heard the door open and the clack of boots striding across to him.

“Potter?” Malfoy stood over him, his nose crinkled in disgust. “Are you done?”

“Um…” Harry thought for a moment, “…yeah. I think so.” He stood, then swayed and leaned against the stall door.

Malfoy studied him a moment, determining if his dragon-hide boots were at risk.

_They might be._

Malfoy narrowed his eyes, and with a flick of his wand, Harry’s stomach settled.

“Anti-nausea charm. The DMLE won't compensate its officers for damage to clothing while arresting drunks,” Malfoy explained. “Now that that’s out of the way -”

With a well-practised hand, he twisted his wand, and whispered something. Harry felt the tingle of _Scourgification_ across his clothes and face. He ran his tongue across his teeth: it felt like he’d been to the dentist.

“Do you like your drunks to have fresh breath?” Harry asked. He was still buzzing from the drink, but he felt remarkably better.

“Habit.” Malfoy shrugged. “I dated a smoker. He always tasted like an ashtray.”

“ _He_?”

“My mistake, I forgot you’re an idiot.” Malfoy sneered and leaned forward to whisper. “My dirty little secret, Potter.”

Harry’s heart leapt into his throat at the very idea of image of Malfoy and another bloke tonguing each other’s mouths. “I need to get back to my party.”

“Weasley won’t be missing you, if that’s what you are afraid of. He hasn’t looked away from that jiggling mass of female anatomy since they entered his line of sight. Bet he thinks you ducked in here for a quick wank. He also has no bloody idea that you think his company for said wank would be a better birthday present than that two-Knut lap-dancer.”

Harry tightened his fists, trying to ground himself. Having a panic attack was not on. “You don’t know what you're talking about!”

Malfoy smirked. “Which part? The one about you being a gay or the fact that Weasley gets your blood pumping south?”

“It isn’t like that.” Harry took a step backwards. Malfoy stood between him and the door, and his heart pounded faster.

“Oh, it’s not, eh?” Malfoy followed Harry so they were only an arm’s distance apart again. He looked at him; a little angry, a little hungry, as though he was ready to devour Harry if he made a dash for the door.

“Tell me honestly,“ he said, taking another step backward which caused Harry’s heels to hit the back wall “When your hand slips under the covers late at night, which redhead do you picture? Your long-lost Ginny or the perky little arse of your best friend?”

Guilt engulfed Harry as his most private fantasies echoed shamelessly against the filthy walls of the loo. There'd been years of hiding the truth, denying himself pleasure, acting the role everyone expected of him. No one had guessed, no one suspected; except for Malfoy.

Being gay wasn’t the end of the world, but being in love with your best friend and not your best friend's sister was enough of a scandal to turn his life upside down. He didn’t need that. He could control his urges; he had for years now.

Coming out had never been an option. He knew the moment Ron knew he liked blokes he would know. And Harry would never be able to look him in the eye to deny it. He kept his feelings well-hidden. Eventually, he knew this unrequited schoolboy crush would never let him have a moment’s honesty. But how do you stop a pendulum from swinging?

Harry stared at the floor; meeting Malfoy’s gaze was impossible. But Malfoy was never one to just let Harry be. He felt a gentle hand on his chin urging his face up and forcing eye contact.

When Malfoy spoke, it was barely above a whisper. “You need to give him up, Potter. I’ve watched you watch him for years. He doesn’t look back – not that way."

Harry blinked and prayed to whatever gods listened to dirty toilet conversations that his eyes would not water. The truth in Malfoy’s tone was a scalpel slicing through his delusions of a happy ending. There was no room for denial, even if Harry could summon his voice.

Malfoy moved his hand so that it cupped Harry’s jaw, his thumb gently stroking the evening stubble.

Before he realised what was happening, Malfoy had leaned forward and pressed their lips together, hard. They stayed like that for an awkward moment until Malfoy eased the pressure and let his lips touch Harry’s in a feather-soft kiss.

Malfoy was the first to pull back, but he didn’t go far. He simply broke the kiss and rested his damp forehead against Harry’s, causing their hats to knock.

Harry was shaking, but he noticed that Malfoy was as well.

“That wasn’t horrible,” Malfoy said.

“Thanks.” Harry really didn’t know how to respond. It was his first kiss with a bloke, after all.

“It wasn’t great either, Potter.”

“Er… sorry?” The evil birthday gods could stop shitting all over his birthday now.

But Malfoy was still shaking, so it couldn’t have been that bad.

Malfoy cleared his throat and put some space between them, just enough to look into each other's eyes properly. His gaze was piercing. “I’m not Weasley, Potter.”

“I know that!” How could Malfoy think… whatever it was that he was thinking?

“Let me finish. I’m not Weasley. I’m not playing fill-in for him.” – Malfoy lifted his hand to stop Harry’s interruption – “Just – I’m not him, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Harry wasn’t going to argue. Whatever ridiculous things Malfoy thought was going on in Harry’s head, weren’t really happening anyway. Malfoy was there. There, and wanting to snog and God his breath was hot as it tickled Harry’s neck. And that stupid hat looked so damn good. And maybe it was totally wrong, but he was half-hard after one kiss.

Malfoy searched Harry’s face before leaning in and kissing him again. If the first kiss was that of a frightened adolescent, this one was from her cousin, the whore. Wet parted lips and an eager tongue gently coaxed Harry into a warm slick slide of exploration, until the kiss moved into a full assault.

Hands gripped shirts as Harry and Malfoy held each other still, pulling closer, yanking shirt-tails out of tight jeans. Harry’s cowboy hat hit the floor with a thud, and Malfoy reached for a handful of black hair.

Malfoy shifted; his hip brushed up against Harry’s cock. Then he did it again, and once more until Harry had to break free from the kiss and gasp for air.

“Eyes open, Potter.”

“What?” Harry hadn’t realized he’d closed them.

“I want your eyes open for this.”

Malfoy reached for Harry’s belt, but hesitated until Harry nodded enthusiastically. Malfoy un-zipped Harry then stopped for his own.

They stood for a moment, cocks tenting their respective pants and poking past their open zippers.

Harry had never been so hard in his life. This was real. It felt raw and dirty. Not like a lubed hand, alone in the dark, under the sheets with a _Silencio_ on the door.

Draco held out his palm to Harry. Harry stared at it, unsure what Draco was expecting.

“Shit, you’re a virgin, aren’t you?” Malfoy didn’t even comment on Harry’s blush. He simply spit into his own palm, reached inside Harry’s pants and wrapped a slick hand around his cock.

Harry whimpered.

“Eyes open, Potter.”

“Sorry.”

“I want you to remember who is doing this to you," Malfoy said, setting a slow, torturous rhythm. "Later, when you wank off, you'll remember it was _me_ who made you feel this way.” His free hand fumbled with his own pants, missing a stroke.

Harry thrust up impatiently to regain his attention; and then Malfoy did something fabulous. He lined up his cock alongside Harry’s, and wrapped a hand around both.

“Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah. Bet your Weasley’s never done this.”

Harry hissed, surprised to realise that he did not want to think about Ron at the moment.

Malfoy found a new rhythm quickly, faster and tighter than expected. Each push-pull-squeeze stole an embarrassing grunt from Harry.

He wondered if this was what gay sex was – that depraved dream he’d had since puberty but never indulged in – a myriad of pain and pleasure and sweat and naughty sounds in a public toilet. He’d take this over rose petals and the too-soft mattress that sex with women seemed to be. Not that he would know that either.

“Keep your eyes fucking open.”

Harry snapped to awareness. “God, Malfoy! I’m trying.”

“Try harder.” Draco actually looked angry now. His grip was merciless and damned near perfect.

“Malfoy.” Harry focused all his energy on keeping his eyes open and his head from falling on that inviting shoulder. “Draco, please. Just keep… yeah.”

He thrusted blindly, losing control. Immediately, he dropped his eyes to watch the spurts covering Malfoy’s hand and both their cocks.

Malfoy's fist pumped and pumped until Harry was tender and it was close to painful but then Draco was coming too and nothing much mattered because he could feel the pulsing and another man’s come on him and he would never forget what it looked like, what it felt like at that moment.

Too quickly, Draco whipped out a Cleaning Charm. Harry wasn’t quite ready for that perfect moment to end. He made busy fixing his pants and trousers, embarrassed at his own sentimentality.

“So what will Weasley think of his precious boy hero taking hand jobs from blokes?” Draco mocked as he pulled up his zipper.

Harry’s post-coital bliss evaporated, his cheeks burning with shame. _Fuck. What had he just done?_

His panic must have been palpable because Malfoy laughed.

“I’m not going to tell him, you fool.” Malfoy shook his head at the thought. ”You need to realise he’ll never come around. I’ve been stuck with him as a partner for ten months now, watching you watching him. And he doesn’t even see you, Potter. Not like-“ Malfoy stopped himself for a moment before continuing- “ Not _really_. It’s pathetic.”

“Pathetic, it’s what I do best.” Harry agreed, giving a self-deprecating shrug.

“This wasn’t pathetic.” Malfoy pointed between them. “Malfoys don’t do pathetic.”

“Really? It was all right?” Harry smiled. As far as he was concerned, it was mindblowing.

“It wasn’t bad, better than I’d have thought.” For the first time that night, Malfoy’s eyes were not on Harry. Staring at the floor, he added, “If I’d ever given it a thought.”

Whether it was from the slight blush in Malfoy’s cheeks or the oddly uncomfortable tone in his voice, Harry experienced a moment of understanding. This was what it was all about: Malfoy watching Harry, Harry watching Ron, Ron eyeing every skirt that passed. Malfoy was right, pathetic.

“So maybe we can do this again sometime?” he asked, suddenly emboldened.

“Maybe, Potter.” Malfoy flashed him a mischievous smile, but the blush remained. “If you’re not too busy counting freckles.”

Harry didn’t rise to the bait. Whether he realised it or not, Malfoy had played his cards.

“Friday, then?”

“Maybe.”

“Seven o’clock?”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed at Harry’s confidence. “We’ll see.”

He pushed Harry towards the door. “But for now, you’ve got a party to get back to, birthday boy.” As Malfoy opened the door, he whispered into Harry’s ear. “Do try to look like you’ve just had the best orgasm of your life. It’ll make the Weasel so proud.”

~fin~


End file.
